


Functioning Relationships

by truethingsproved



Series: Talk revolution to me, baby. [9]
Category: Les Misérables (2012), Les Misérables - All Media Types, Les Misérables - Schönberg/Boublil, Les Misérables - Victor Hugo
Genre: Alternate Universe - College/University, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, F/M, M/M, Multi, in which jmb is the only functioning relationship ever because they're so great, it's kinda fluffy ish i promise
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-02-26
Updated: 2013-02-26
Packaged: 2017-12-03 17:38:23
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,597
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/700910
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/truethingsproved/pseuds/truethingsproved
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>All three sit up in bed, and after a furious game of rock-paper-scissors Musichetta sighs and shoves at Joly’s shoulder before sliding out of bed to open the door. She’s wearing nothing but an old tee shirt and a pair of Bossuet’s boxers, and for a moment Joly contemplates grabbing her hand and tugging her back to bed, whoever is at the door be damned, but he sighs and flops back on the pillow, listening closely. Bossuet follows suit.</p><p>There’s a creak of a door opening, then Musichetta is saying hello in a voice that makes Joly groan, because clearly, their visitor is going to be staying for a while (as evidenced by Musichetta’s cheerful invitation to come in), and then Enjolras’ familiar voice is floating through the apartment.</p><p>“It’s noon,” he’s saying, though he does sound mildly amused, if a bit exasperated, and Musichetta’s laugh fills the halls.</p><p>“Your bruises are healing,” she tells him before popping her head into the bedroom. “Alright, boys, I’m kicking you out. Enjolras and I are going to have hot revolutionary sex and you’re not invited.”</p><p>From the kitchen, Enjolras shouts back, dryly, “Ooh baby, ooh baby, say something about liberty.”</p>
            </blockquote>





	Functioning Relationships

It’s an absolutely beautiful day.

The lace curtains Musichetta picked out ages and ages ago, which have long since been stained (with paint, from the time Feuilly and Grantaire painted the apartment and got the pale green on the carpet as well; with wine, from the time they celebrated their anniversary in bed and knocked an entire bottle over; with streaks of dye from when Bossuet accidentally washed them with one of Musichetta’s scarves, the one where the colors tended to bleed) are open, and sunlight pours in. Joly looks at them fondly, one asleep on either side of him, and cards his fingers through Musichetta’s hair. On his other side, Bossuet nestles closer to him, nuzzling his jaw in his sleep. The apartment smells of fresh coffee—the timer on the coffee maker must be working for once. The others will be waking up soon: Chetta will wake first, her hair splayed out on the pillow behind her, both eyes opening, peering up at him through her eyelashes and her lips curling up in a soft and sleepy smile. Bossuet will wake next, opening one eye first, then both, and he’ll grin and show all his teeth.

It will be a perfect morning and they’ll all brush their teeth and climb into their giant bathtub together, unless they go back to bed, and they’ll spend their day wrapped up around each other in a beautiful tangle of limbs.

This is how Joly knows that the day is going to be ruined.

He doesn’t know for sure but he has a very strong inkling that it will, and Joly’s hunches tend to be right more often than the others want to admit.

Sure enough, Musichetta wakes first, and she’s a goddamn vision even when she’s only just waking up. She yawns adorably before pressing kiss after kiss to Joly’s bare shoulder.

“Good morning, my love,” she practically purrs, her voice still low and husky from sleep, and this wakes Bossuet, who grins and slides a hand across Joly’s chest before leaning over to kiss Musichetta lightly in greeting. Their hands are starting to wander, and Joly’s premonition of a ruined day is almost completely forgotten as he tips his head back to bare his throat for Bossuet’s wandering lips, when there’s an almost vicious pounding on the door.

All three sit up in bed, and after a furious game of rock-paper-scissors Musichetta sighs and shoves at Joly’s shoulder before sliding out of bed to open the door. She’s wearing nothing but an old tee shirt and a pair of Bossuet’s boxers, and for a moment Joly contemplates grabbing her hand and tugging her back to bed, whoever is at the door be damned, but he sighs and flops back on the pillow, listening closely. Bossuet follows suit.

There’s a creak of a door opening, then Musichetta is saying hello in a voice that makes Joly groan, because clearly, their visitor is going to be staying for a while (as evidenced by Musichetta’s cheerful invitation to come in), and then Enjolras’ familiar voice is floating through the apartment.

“It’s noon,” he’s saying, though he does sound mildly amused, if a bit exasperated, and Musichetta’s laugh fills the halls.

“Your bruises are healing,” she tells him before popping her head into the bedroom. “Alright, boys, I’m kicking you out. Enjolras and I are going to have hot revolutionary sex and you’re not invited.”

From the kitchen, Enjolras shouts back, dryly, “Ooh baby, ooh baby, say something about liberty.”

Joly lets out an indignant noise that makes Bossuet snicker as he trips out of bed. “Baby, you’re good, but how exactly do you plan on stealing him away from his cynic?” he asks, and Musichetta snorts.

“I’m going to draw him a diagram of Louis XVI’s execution. Now get out. We’re having serious discussions. Go get lunch at that pub you like and then I’ll meet you there, okay?”

They grumble good-naturedly and brush their teeth and get dressed and within fifteen minutes they’re out the door, Bossuet pausing to make agitated faces at Enjolras (who sits comfortably on the antique couch he’d found them and then carried over with Combeferre and Jehan, though Jehan somehow ended up on the couch while Enjolras and Combeferre did the carrying) before closing the door behind him.

Musichetta comes back out in a pair of jeans and a tank top despite the crisp air and sits across from Enjolras, tucking her legs under her.

“What’s going on, sweetheart?” she asks, picking up the massive mug of tea she’d made for herself, and Enjolras sighs, running a hand through his hair.

“It’s about Grantaire.”

\------

“I’m _cold._ ”

“I know.”

“I’m _cold_ and it’s a Saturday and I wanted to spend today in _bed_.”

“I know, babe.” Bossuet leans over to press a kiss to Joly’s cheek before nearly falling off his barstool. He’s got a beer in front of him and a massive sandwich on the way; Joly ordered a salad and a hot tea and is sipping at it almost delicately.

They almost don’t recognize Grantaire when he walks in, Enjolras’ scarf wrapped around his neck and a beanie jammed over his mess of curls. His hands are shoved in the pockets of his leather jacket and he’s carefully avoiding meeting anyone’s gaze—so, naturally, Joly immediately stands and shouts, “Grantaire!”

The artist winces and pauses, as if he’s contemplating pretending he hasn’t heard or doesn’t know them, before sliding onto the stool next to Bossuet and leaning forward until he’s resting his forehead against the bar.

“Enjolras?” Bossuet guesses, taking a swig of his beer before offering it to Grantaire, who picks it up and brings it to his lips, tipping his head back to drink the whole thing in one go.

“Enjolras,” he confirms, setting the now empty bottle down in front of him.

\------

“Honestly, it’s perfect.”

Enjolras looks almost terrified to be admitting this; he picks nervously at his sleeves, and Musichetta recognizes almost immediately that Enjolras is wearing one of Grantaire’s shirts. She wonders if he’s noticed and decides not to mention anything just in case.

He glances up at her and bites his lip. “That sounds ridiculous, doesn’t it? I’m worried because it’s perfect.”

“No, actually, it makes perfect sense.” Musichetta takes another sip from her mug before setting it down. “Functioning relationships are fucking terrifying.”

He laughs at that, rubbing the back of his neck nervously. “It’s just—I’m afraid we’re not the same people we were when this started. We’ve been together about two weeks and the sex is unbelievable and we don’t argue and I feel like that’s _wrong._ ”

He must be more upset than he’s letting on, if he’s actually talking without Musichetta having to pry it out of him, and she lets out a sympathetic hum before reaching forward to take his hand in both of hers. He rubs his thumb absently across the tattoos on her knuckles—the letters of the spaces in the bass and treble clefs—before sighing.

“I fucked up,” he says, very quietly, and Musichetta pushes off the couch to go sit next to him. “I’d talk to Eponine but she and Combeferre are getting along so well and they haven’t fought once and she’s constantly taking care of me. I don’t want to exhaust her. I’m sorry to have to bother you with this.”

“You’re not a bother at all, sweetheart, just tell me what’s up.”

Enjolras pauses and looks down at his sleeves again. “It was so small, you know?”

\------

“It was so small, you know?”

Grantaire is on his second beer and he stares glumly at his hands in their fingerless gloves—a gift from Enjolras this past Christmas (“If you insist on sitting outside for that many hours drawing at least keep yourself protected from frostbite a little bit, won’t you?”). He and Enjolras had gone on an impromptu road trip to Seattle the week before to take care of something with Mary Kate; Grantaire hasn’t offered details yet, and all Enjolras will say is that there were “family issues” and that he went as backup, but it’s fairly clear to everyone around them that they’re fairly serious about one another.

It doesn’t make much sense, then, that they’re arguing about things now, but maybe it does, and maybe they’re simply not working out the way they thought they would. The very idea makes Joly’s chest hurt, and he spares a moment’s thought to the idea that he might be having a heart attack, but he knows he isn’t.

“He made some offhand comment about how he’s used my toothbrush more than his own in the past few days and I said that he might as well just get a toothbrush to leave at my place, since he spends so much of his time there anyway. He got really quiet and I… got… mad. Because he’s been fucking me for two weeks and I don’t know, I think I just wanted the acknowledgment that I’m not just some fuck.”

Bossuet frowns and slings an arm around Grantaire’s shoulder, pulling him into his side in a one-armed hug, and Grantaire grunts and finishes the second bottle of beer. “He didn’t take it well?”

“He said he thought it was a bit early to be talking about moving things into each other’s apartments and I told him it’s just a spare fucking toothbrush, and it shouldn’t be that big a deal, but he was being so weird about it so I told him to forget it and I might have been an asshole about it.”

“Might have been?” Joly asks, raising his eyebrows, and Grantaire sighs.

“I told him that if he was so insistent on acting like I’m his dirty mistress then we probably shouldn’t have told anyone about us, and he seemed really shocked and went, ‘You told people?’” Grantaire’s impression of Enjolras is high-pitched and shrill and not very flattering, and Bossuet does fall off his stool this time. “I mean, of fucking _course_ I told people. I’ve only been in love with him since I met him, you know? So I told Mary Kate, which, duh, she’s my sister, and she told Musichetta and Cosette—apparently Eponine already knew, so it wasn’t just me—and Cosette told Marius, and I mean, Courf fucking _lives_ with me, and he’s walked in and found Enjolras in my bed, so it’s hardly a fucking state secret, so he told Jehan, and Eponine probably told Combeferre, and Chetta told you guys, and I’m pretty sure that Bahorel and my sister are secretly in league with each other because he and Feuilly know, too.”

“So, everyone?”

“Everyone,” Grantaire confirms, nodding. “Montparnasse knows, even. Courf probably told him and then did his ‘my roommate finally got laid’ dance.”

Bossuet looks as though he wants to ask if Courfeyrac actually has a dance like this, but decides that he really doesn’t want to know the answer.

“And I mean, all over a fucking toothbrush.”

\------

“And all of this was over a goddamn toothbrush.”

“You were a dick,” Musichetta responds instantly. “If it’s any help, so was he, but he’s not sitting on my favorite couch right now so I can’t say that to him.”

“It’s your only couch, Chetta.”

“I know, and there’s no couch better,” she says sweetly before leaning over and licking his cheek; Enjolras snickers, rolling his eyes.

Musichetta has a habit of making people feel _good._ Eponine is good at solving problems, and Cosette is good at making people laugh, but Musichetta makes you want to solve things. It’s not hard to see how in love with her Joly and Bossuet are; it’s not hard to see how lucky they are, either.

His phone vibrates, and he practically jumps out of his skin, fishing it out of his pocket with a look akin to horror on his face, though he visibly relaxes and deflates all at once; it’s a text from Eponine saying that she’s caught up on this week’s Elementary and he’s going to love the episode.

“You’re expecting a call?” Musichetta guesses, and he pauses, then nods.

“I’m supposed to hear back about my internship today. Well, I was supposed to yesterday. Which is probably why I’m so stressed out.” Enjolras sighs, running a hand through his hair again, before turning to Musichetta. He opens his mouth to say something, then closes it again, only to speak in a rush of words when she nods encouragingly. “I just wanted Grantaire to be there when I got the call, you know?”

“Why?”

“I want him to be the first person I tell,” he says softly, and Musichetta grins and takes his hand again, pressing a sweet, sisterly kiss to his fingers.

“I think you should tell him that.”

“He thinks I don’t want people knowing about us.”

“Yeah, you did phrase that like a grade-a douchecanoe.”

“I was startled! I’d thought he wanted to do this quietly, you know?”

Musichetta frowns. “What makes you think that?”

With a shrug, Enjolras pinches the bridge of his nose briefly before answering. “You know him as well as I do. He doesn’t keep quiet about things. But he’s been careful not to kiss me when we’re in public, and he seems genuinely _shocked_ if I so much as touch him. I started playing with his hair the other day at the café, entirely out of habit and because I needed something to do with my hands, and it looked like he was going to break my hand.”

There are a lot of appropriate responses to this and bursting out laughing probably isn’t one of them, but that’s exactly what Musichetta does. She actually howls with laughter, before taking Enjolras’ phone from his hands.

“What are you doing?” he asks, looking almost alarmed, because Musichetta is laughing so hard now that she’s doubled over and is wheezing.

“Calling everyone I know because this is funnier than that time Mary Kate locked you in the bathroom with Cat.”

“Will you please explain this to me before I go get your boyfriends to explain it to me?”

“You know they’ll laugh harder,” she gasps, and Enjolras stands, looking annoyed, so she tugs on his hand until he sits down again. “Sweetheart. You realize he’s in love with you, right?”

Enjolras rolls his eyes and deadpans, “Contrary to popular belief, I _am_ aware of my surroundings.”

“He thought that’s what you wanted, baby. He was waiting for you to be the one to spill the beans to us, but you _didn’t_ , so he assumed that’s how you wanted it. And it’s not like he’s really got many limits when it comes to you, so…”

Enjolras’ expression is twisting into something unreadable, though the look in his eyes is infinitely sadder than she’d ever have guessed. He seems about to say something but his phone vibrates again; when he looks at the caller ID, his eyes widen, and he stands, stepping out of the living room to take the call.

When he comes back there’s a fierce sort of determination in his eyes, and he swoops down to kiss her cheek before picking up his coat from where he’d left it on the couch. “I’ve got to go. Thanks for everything.”

“Any time, baby,” she says, and he opens the door and practically breaks into a run.

\------

“Men suck,” Grantaire mumbles, and Bossuet pats his shoulder comfortingly before shaking his head at the bartender, who makes to bring him a fourth beer. He’s already smoked through half a pack of cigarettes and he looks miserable.

They’d texted Cosette and Eponine ten minutes ago, and Joly keeps looking at his phone nervously as if expecting them to respond that they can handle this on their own, except that Cosette comes barreling into the bar with a strangled noise coming from the back of her throat. She practically throws herself at Grantaire, who just barely manages to sit up in time to catch her and hoist her into his lap, where she throws her arms around his neck and plants sloppy kiss after sloppy kiss to his cheek.

“Smile,” she orders, and when he sticks his tongue out at her she scowls. “I am a Khaleesi of the Dothraki and if you don’t smile I’m going to have my dragons set you on fire.”

“Threats of third-degree burns don’t make me feel better, Cosette.”

“That’s Daenerys Targaryen, Mother of Dragons, to you, commoner.”

“I’m going to find whoever got you into Game of Thrones and punch them in the face.”

“Good luck punching Bahorel,” she snorts, and Grantaire pales a little.

“Maybe I’ll just deliver a strongly-worded letter.”

Eponine and Gavroche come in next, and Cosette slides off of his lap and moves so that Gavroche can sit next to him as Eponine musses his hair. They’re all expecting Gavroche to say or do something sweet, but then they remember that he’s Gavroche.

He reaches up to slap Grantaire lightly across the back of the head.

“Quit whining and get me a burger,” he says, and Grantaire snorts. “Dating sucks but if you were loser enough to do it you’ve got to deal with it, and I’m hungry.”

Within half an hour the rest of Les Amis have arrived and they’ve taken up the entire bar, drinking and laughing and stealing Gavroche’s fries. Cosette and Eponine are engaged in a discussion on the problematic representation of Daenerys’ and Drogo’s relationship and comparing it to how it was presented in the books; Combeferre and Bahorel and Feuilly are discussing the recent plagiarism scandal surrounding one of the professors in the geology department; Jehan and Courfeyrac are sharing a milkshake and a barstool and Courfeyrac braids Jehan’s hair while Jehan argues enthusiastically with Grantaire about whether or not it’s feasible to actually chronicle the entire history of bookbinding in anything less than six volumes (Grantaire is doing a research paper on scriptoria in early English monasteries, specifically on the illumination of sacred manuscripts). When Musichetta arrives, she kisses her boys before sitting next to Joly and snatching his beer to steal a sip.

“Is Enjolras here yet?” she asks quietly, and Joly frowns, shaking his head.

“Did he tell you what happened?” Bossuet asks, and Musichetta nods.

“He’ll be here,” she says, looking worried nonetheless.

It’s another twelve minutes before a familiar blond head pokes into the bar. Enjolras catches sight of Grantaire and his previously passive expression becomes unreadable; he’s got a plastic bag from the local pharmacy in one hand, and the other is curled around the doorknob.

“Close the fucking door, it’s cold,” Cosette shouts without looking away from Eponine; Marius looks up, though, and flashes Enjolras a small but supportive smile from where he’s standing behind Cosette, trailing kisses along the side of her neck.

Everyone looks up when the door slams, and Grantaire freezes when he sees that it’s Enjolras. He looks torn between apologizing and simply staring back at him, defiant; Enjolras doesn’t move for a minute, and then he’s striding over to Grantaire, walking with a purpose.

One second Enjolras is walking closer and the next he’s grabbing hold of his scarf, still wrapped around Grantaire’s neck, and tugging him closer before kissing Grantaire almost fiercely.

The entire bar falls silent except for the slightly surprised sounds being muffled by Enjolras’ mouth fixed firmly over Grantaire’s. The artist’s hands come floating up to curl around Enjolras’ waist over his pea coat, and Enjolras just kisses him harder, his hand wrapped in the scarf. After about a minute, Enjolras pulls away, beaming, and brushes his nose across Grantaire’s cheekbone.

“I got the internship,” he says, so low only Grantaire can hear, and despite his earlier anger Grantaire’s lips curl up in a smile, though his “congratulations” is cut short by Enjolras tugging the scarf again until Grantaire falls forward into Enjolras and they’re kissing again.

Then Enjolras is pressing the bag against Grantaire’s chest; Grantaire takes it with a frown and peers in, laughing out loud before withdrawing a cheap blue toothbrush still in its wrapping, the receipt wrapped around it. This time, he’s the one to lean forward and kiss Enjolras, who responds enthusiastically. When the kissing gets a bit indecent for being in public, Musichetta clears her throat, grinning, and Enjolras pulls back, though he looks reluctant to do so.

“I got the internship,” he announces, lacing the fingers of his free hand into Grantaire’s. Grantaire is still holding on to the toothbrush as if for dear life, and Enjolras tugs him off the bar stool as the rest of their friends crow with happiness at the news, cheering loudly. A few people clap. Enjolras smiles and nods at them, though a second later he’s headed back out the door, tugging Grantaire behind him.

“Where are you going?” Eponine calls, and Enjolras glances over his shoulder with a wicked smile.

“To celebrate,” he answers, and he sounds almost innocent. For his part, Grantaire looks almost deliriously happy, especially when Enjolras pulls him in to kiss him again right there on the sidewalk, still in front of the huge glass front of the bar, his hands knotted in the scarf again.

Musichetta reaches over to muss Joly’s hair before scratching her fingernails lightly along the base of Bossuet’s skull. “What do you say we go make up for the morning lost to couple’s counseling?”

It’s hard to tell who leaves there faster, Enjolras and Grantaire, or Joly, Bossuet, and Musichetta.

**Author's Note:**

> wow remember how I thought you all were so amazing I couldn't even begin to comprehend it? You managed to get more amazing. I am in awe.
> 
> -For starters, Emily wrote me a thing, because she's absolutely perfect and beautiful in every way and I adore her endlessly http://jehans.tumblr.com/post/43872730504/practice-rooms-modern-au-oneshot  
> -so consider that canon because wow perfect  
> -Emily you are perfect  
> -the road trip mentioned is detailed here http://duskjolras.tumblr.com/post/43892074131/tw-for-violence-emotional-abuse-mary-kate-calls  
> -please note the TWs; they're there for a reason and it's an emotionally draining piece to read. (Writing it was exhausting and heartbreaking.)  
> -Cosette art how precious is she http://nessiethelakemonster.tumblr.com/post/43758537572/the-result-of-wednesday-celebrations-i-fanarted  
> -if TRTMB had a cover it would probs. be this http://volchitza.tumblr.com/post/43737022902/theres-a-hastily-scrawled-note-on-the-bedside  
> -hey look it's Cat :D http://jazzysatindoll.tumblr.com/post/43619503013/art-for-talk-revolution-to-me-baby-catjorlas-i  
> -and CAT'S ON HERE TOO http://littlejehan.tumblr.com/post/43610511330  
> -and ahhhh how great is this http://notgoodnotnicejustright.tumblr.com/post/43359807002/les-mis-modern-au-inspired-by-the-talk-revolution  
> -aaaaah it's everyone all my babies http://drowninglovers.tumblr.com/post/43351491316  
> -you know what's super great? Kissing GIFs.  
> -http://jen-suis.tumblr.com/post/43354449184/ummm-so-because-duskjolras-drabbles-mainly-based  
> -and  
> -http://jen-suis.tumblr.com/post/43270751160/it-took-me-forever-and-a-pack-cigarettes-to-finish  
> -AND THEN AND THEN WE HAVE A PODFIC AND ANOTHER RECORDING  
> -http://vocaroo.com/i/s09jllPAsbRG  
> -http://theskepticami.tumblr.com/post/43854689974/enjolr-ass-part-1-of-talk-revolution-to-me-baby
> 
> As always, I love to hear from you, so feel free to drop me a message or a prompt on Tumblr. I'm duskjolras there, and I track the duskjolras tag, as well as the 'talk revolution to me baby' tag. All my drabbles are on tumblr, found at http://duskjolras.tumblr.com/tagged/trtmb+drabbles
> 
> You can thank Theo for scarf!Grantaire--I was inspired after seeing this: http://i-have-never-been-wise.tumblr.com/post/44018070144/ryssa-said-she-wanted-grantaire-wearing-a-scarf
> 
> anyway, sorry the notes are always so long; I just love being able to show you all how fucking creative everyone in this fandom is? Every time I see these graphics and sketches (and fics c: ) based on TRTMB I get so excited; it really makes my day, and I'm so, so honored to have such amazing readers. I love you all dearly. Thank you for accepting me into your fandom with so much warmth and kindness; you're all so great and I'm very lucky. :)
> 
> (the future chapter titles will have more puns. I swear.)
> 
> Till next time, lovelies! <3


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